When We Need Death to Live
by jollyrancher-j2k
Summary: Is it ethically okay to bring back a hero from the dead if your country is about to self-destruct? A descendent of the Lioness tries her hand at necromancy... and succeeds...
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: None of Tamora Pierces thoughts/ideas which areprotectedby copyright laws are mine. This is applicable to this entire story (just in case I forget to write a Disclaimer every time)._

**When We Need Death to Live: Chapter 1, The End of the Beginning**

She held her breath while entering the dusty tomb. It had been done before, this thing she was about to do, but not for over two hundred years. Two centuries without a crazed necromancer running free amongst Tortall's noblest families. Two centuries since Thom of Trebond had unleashed and fed the evil spirit of Duke Roger of Conte, who had tried to destroy the kingdom. And now she would be the crazed necromancer. But, oh, how she hoped this raising would be different from that time long ago.

If her parents knew what she was about to do they would kill her. Literally. Her step-mother was not known for her kindness and her father, when interested in his daughter's projects, only criticized them whole-heartedly.

And what her family feared the most was shame; they feared their lovely red-headed mage shaming her family and disgracing the family name. Her family expected a lot of her; her grandmother was, after all, the granddaughter of the once-famed Alanna of Trebond, famous knight and the killer of the evil Duke Roger.

No, she herself was not trying to raise the Duke again, which would have her banished to a section of the desert reserved for the most dangerous criminals, but in the eyes of the Tortallan nobility this would be nearly as bad. She was actually resurrecting their hero, yet in doing so she risked unleashed ancient powers beyond her control. But she was desperate and she had to try.

Finally, she heard the city's clock ring. Midday. She placed a circle of ten ancient stones, different colored opals spaced out every other stone by her own creation, purple diamonds, around the hero's grave. She stated the opals' virtues as she set them down carefully "White for innocence, that you may be one of morals. Green for youth, that you may be once again as young in spirit as in mind. Blue for sight, that you may regain lost senses. Brown for healing, that your body may be as well again as your mind and spirit. And red for blood, that it will retrace its course and cease the ceasing of your beating heart."

The mage crossed to the foot of the body and began chanting the two hundred year-old verses that could, and would, she hoped, raise the dead. As she spoke, she moved her hands in intricate patterns along the corpse, her Gift flowing out of her fingertips to cover the body in a sheet of woven dark indigo-violet threads. Finally, she closed the spell. "With myself, my body and my spirit, I will raise you up to life. My spirit I have given with my Gift and my body I give now." She quickly used a dagger to make a deep cut in her left palm. She walked over to the body's head and placed her hand on the ancient forehead.

As she felt the spell complete itself, she thought of the reason for bringing her hero back to life. She thought about how much Tortall needed this person to come back. She thought about children, starving in the streets. She thought about families, once noble, now forced to live begging for food. And, most of all, she thought of the rebellions. After being annexed to Carthak by Emperor Kaddar and Empress Kalasin's daughter, Empress Karalise, Tortall had endured long periods of revolts and rebellions by its commoners. Now, 150 years later, the rebellions had progressed enough that it seemed as though the rebels might soon turn to fighting the Tortallan nobility as well. The fighting continued day and night, and it would only get worse.

The descendent of the Lioness gasped as her magical ties to the spell were severed. The body, no longer a rotting corpse, twitched spasmodically. Mouth and eyes opened, and the girl's hero, alive again, sat up slowly, with a raspy intake of breath. She looked around and with a trembling voice quite uncharacteristic of her asked, "Who the hell are you?"

_So tell me what you thought... This is my first somewhat-angsty fic. I've been writing it in school when I am bored with what the teachers are trying to learn me._

_So, good or bad? And who do you think the "hero" is? I think it's a bit obvious and Ibet everyone who reviews will guess right, but maybe some people will be imaginative..._


	2. Chapter 2 um sort of?

_Wow! I loved all the positive feedback I got… Seriously! I bragged to all my friends about getting such wonderful reviews from all you WONDERFUL reviewers! So, because I haven't had a chance to write in FOREVER, I am posting a short segment/chapter thing. It was originally part of a larger chapter and I haven't had time to really edit it yet, but I have to put something up before you all think I'm dead, right? Anyway, I hope more will follow this. Hopefully I will get something more up by my birthday…_

The young mage, with a big smile that looked strained because of the physical pain she was in, said in a dry voice, "I am Alanna of Trebond, the second. Welcome back, great-great grandmother."

Alanna, newly risen from the realms of the Black God, stared at Alanna, her "granddaughter" and nearly laughed. Was this girl kidding? Alanna of Trebond, the second? This must just be one of those few nightmares the dead get, she thought. She looked up at her dream-relative. There could almost have been a mirror between them; The youth's face was an identical oval to Alanna's and her hair, currently caught up in a ponytail fell in crimson waves to her upper back. Her nose was small, but cute; the Trebond nose, Alanna noted. The young mage's body was also of a similar build to Alanna's: small and slight, but well-toned to the core. Finally, Alanna's gaze rested upon the mage's eyes. There was a difference at least. The dream-girl had blue eyes, touched with amethyst spikes in the middle. They were the most interesting and captivating eyes Alanna had ever seen. The old Alanna had been famous for her violet eyes, but her descendent's eyes were equally well-known for giving one the clichéd feeling that one was "drowning in their depths."

"What a person to dream up," Alanna said, surprised. "Just like me except with better eyes… You must be my dream-self."

"Um… No, actually. I'm your great-great granddaughter and I have risen you from the dead."

"What?" Alanna blinked.

"Well, I looked up the spell that your brother Thom used to raise the Duke of Conte and…"

"Let me get this straight," Alanna interjected. "I was dead, but you brought me back."

"Correct."

"And this isn't just a nightmare?"

"Nope."

"So people actually let me be buried in this dress!" Alanna exclaimed, distressed over the silver and purple ball-gown that had been meant to be her attire for the rest of eternity.

"Well, yes," the young mage Alanna answered, "but they didn't think you would mind. After all, they didn't think you would be waking back up."

"Well, 'they' better watch out in case I ever catch 'them!'" Alanna said vehemently. "So what's your name?"

"It's Alanna, same as yours," the young Alanna said.

"Okay. Well, Alanna, would you mind telling me how to resolve my issues so I can get out of this dream? I wanted to take a mud bath in an hour."

"I'm afraid this really isn't a dream. I really have brought you back," the girl looked down as if in silent apology.

"You mean…" Alanna couldn't voice the rest of her thoughts. Her face turned red as she realized that she really was awake, and alive again. "I think you'd better tell me what's going on and answer all my questions."

"First of all, you can call me Lori," the blue-eyed Alanna offered.

"Okay," Alanna agreed. "So, Lori, tell me what's happened, where am I, and why the hell am I 'sleeping' next to Duke Gregore of Stonecrest, giant-killer extraordinaire?"


	3. Chapter 3

_This is a really really really really really… etc... short chapter! But I haven't even been on FFN for so long that I felt really bad and decided to stick this up because it was already written. Unfortunately I have been really really really busy since the beginning of April and my summer doesn't look too good. This will probably be the last update until August, when I'm going to Maryland for nine days… Hopefully I can work on ff's while I'm there. I know I hate writers like me… the ones who don't update… but I've realized that I really write for my own pleasure… no matter how much I enjoy your wonderful feedback… so until August… here's Chapter 3…_

It was a year of war when Tortall's famed Lioness suffered a wound to the heart and died. Like any other hero, she was mourned deeply for a long time; and those who knew her best grieved the most and had the hardest time trying to get back to their normal lives without Alanna of Trebond there to scold or praise them. The lady knight's husband, George Cooper of Pirate's Swoop, was deeply affected by her passing and within the year, he grew severely ill and went to join his wife in the realms of the Black God.

The king and queen only held one ball for Midwinter that year. Everyone in attendance wore black and no one danced or even managed to crack a smile. Several people had, in fact, broken down in tears by the end of the night.

After a while, though, everyone realized that they could not wear black forever and, about a year after the blessed lady's death, the country and it's people resumed their normal pace (with the exception of a few people).

The Lady Alanna's children, Thom, Alan, and Alianne, rented a house together in Corus so they could enjoy solitude even when called upon to return to the capital. Alianne, who had been expected to take up her father's position as Tortall's Spymaster, politely declined the offer and became (of all things) a housewife. She and her husband Nawat had three children in all, but two were killed by illnesses as infants and the third died at birth.

Thom, the eldest of the three, pretended as though he had too much work to do at the Swoop and after his marriage to the boring third-daughter of a poor noble, he never again left the port city. He became a drunk and was entertained so frequently by prostitutes that he caught an exotic disease and lay sick in his bed for years before finally dying of a stroke.

Alan was the odd duck of the bunch. In his show of grief, he was actually pulled out of his scholar's shell. As a mage, he was invited to attend formal functions, but unlike his knighted brother, he was not normally at the king's beck and call.


End file.
